


if I should die before I wake

by FancifulRivers



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced No Mercy Route, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Nightmares, Post Pacifist Route, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: Frisk has a hard time sleeping.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Undertale, naturally.
> 
> I started writing this almost a month ago, but couldn't finish it until now.

You wake up in the middle of the night, red-faced and gasping. For a moment, you're terrified to look down at your hands, for fear all you'll see is dust.

 _Look down, you big baby,_ Chara insists, and when you do, trembling so hard you can barely breathe, all you see is sweaty brown skin.

 _I told you,_ Chara says, but you can feel the relief drip from their pores just as much as yours as you stumble to the bathroom. It feels safer in here, the light washing away the last vestiges of the nightmares that still clung to you.

Can you really call it a nightmare when it's memory?

You wait a moment, to see if Chara will pipe up with another snarky comment, but they're as silent as the house is.

The urge to see red on your skin is brief but overwhelming and you bite your lip hard- too hard, as you feel it split open beneath the pressure of your teeth. The taste of blood shocks you back to the present though and you pad your way into the living room, making your way mostly by memory. You don't want to turn any lights on.

It's not until you nearly trod on him that you remember Sans is sleeping over tonight.

 _Shit,_ Chara curses as you flail wildly for balance, your feet skidding out of your slippers. White pinpoints in the darkness and suddenly you're enveloped in blue, holding you gently in place.

"kiddo?" Sans asks softly, sleepily, but you-

You can't hear him anymore.

* * *

_"it's a beautiful day outside," he says. The words are rote by now, aren't they? You sway. You can't remember anymore if it's your first time or fiftieth facing him. The knife in your hand weighs you down like an anvil. "birds are singing, flowers are blooming. on days like this..." His eye flashes bright, bluebird blue and his frozen grin sends shivers down your spine. He's wearing his brother's scarf around his neck and for a moment, you wish you were capable of tears._

_"kids like you should be burning in hell."_

_The first bone slamming through you makes you laugh, even as blood bubbles over your lips and down your chin._

* * *

"kiddo? kid?  _frisk!_ "

It's the raw panic in his voice that finally snaps you back and you look up at him with wide, tear-blurred eyes, wondering when exactly you ended up on the floor. You can taste blood in your mouth and it makes the anxiety spike again until Chara shoves at you, jostling for shared control.

 _We bit our lip, remember?_ they snap, and it's enough.

 _What?_ you sign, because you don't think your voice is up to talking just yet. Chara agrees with you.

"you ok?" He studies you, still half-wrapped in the blanket that Mom must have put on him. He always starts the night out on the sofa or in the recliner, but ends up on the floor, where you must have tripped over him. Your cheeks burn. 

 _Yes,_ you sign, but your hand is shaking. It might be dark in the living room, but you know it's not enough to fool him. It never has been.

"...wanna watch tv?" is all Sans asks. You nod.

It's mindless, late night cartoon re-runs. You huddle in the corner of the sofa as Sans clicks the lamp on. The soft light makes you feel exposed. Chara murmurs uneasily, a litany of sounds you can't quite make out. They're the one pulling your sleeves down over your hands, but you don't mind.

It's funny, you reflect. You'd think it would be easier to be around Mom when the nightmares hit, but it's always Sans, once the initial shock has worn off. You're pretty sure he remembers. Maybe not all of it but  _something_. 

He never treats you different, though. Same old Sans, with his ketchup and his jokes and his perpetual laziness like the blanket he's  _still_ rolled up in. It looks odd, framing his face with soft rainbow pastels.

* * *

  _The sunset is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. The monsters are loud, exuberant, around you. You just stand there, silent and smiling, exhaustion fogging your mind and the breeze chilling the sweat on your face._

_"you did it, kid," Sans says quietly next to you. You nod, contentment a placid lake in your middle. The grime on your hands is ordinary dirt._

_"Yes," Chara says for good measure, speaking for you. They are quiet, satisfied. The locket around your neck feels heavy, but not with sadness._

_"thanks," Sans grins. "it means a skele-ton."_

_You groan, flinging dirty fingers over your face dramatically. You never thought you'd see the sky again. It's more beautiful than you remember._

* * *

You aren't sure if it's you or Chara who first signs it, but it's only when exhaustion wrings your muscles that you realize you're finger spelling "I'm sorry" over and over into your lap. You can't stop rocking back and forth. At first, Sans doesn't seem to notice, and you're quietly grateful. You don't want him to. This feels too much like a confession, but you can't stop, not even when he scoots over to your side of the sofa, not when he gently takes one of your hands in his, watching the other uselessly spasm out "I'm sorry." There's no blue anywhere.

You look up, searching his face, trying to pluck meaning from white pinpricks and glossy bone. Chara inspects it even closer, and you can feel the corners of your mouth bloom upward into a parody of a smile. It hurts and you're pretty sure it's making your lip split open wider, but Chara doesn't care, and so you don't either. The dreams ( _the memories_ ) must have hit you harder than you thought this time.

"kiddo," he starts, then stops. He doesn't stop holding your hand. You open your mouth, not knowing what to say. The litany becomes verbal as you rock harshly, your back twisting and throbbing with pain.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry  _I'm sorry sorrysorrysorry_ -"

"i know," Sans tells you, cutting across your babbling as cleanly as- well, as a knife. "i know."

You and Chara both stare at him with wet eyes. You feel like a raw wound. Your lip burns and he examines it with a wince.

"your mom should take a look at that," he says softly. "get you all fixed up in no thyme." A pinprick of light blinks out in an approximation of a wink. You laugh a little despite yourself, the sound thin and watery.

"I'm sorry," you say again. "Do you-"

"bits," he acknowledges. "but you fixed it. right?" Almost as if you no longer had control, your head bobbled up and down.

"then that's what counts," he finishes. "come on, kiddo. let's go wake your mom up to fix that lip and then make you some hot chocolate. bone appetit."

Smiling a little, you get off the couch and pad after him.

 


End file.
